Finally Breathe
by Scavenge-4-Dreams
Summary: Part four of 'As Easy As'. Somehow, five larger than life, exuberant, brilliant, scary as hell people had steam rolled over his preferred lifestyle. And more than anything, Tony wanted it back. Wanted to be able to breathe again. Slash. Stony (Very, very mild- this one has a hug).


Tony breathed deeply into the still silence of his kitchen, the shadowed darkness enhancing the feeling of complete and utter freedom coursing through his veins.

God he'd missed this.

He'd missed being able to wander his home at 2am, as he was now, without the worry of disproving eyes, or unwarranted worry. He'd missed being able to blast ACDC at all hours day and night, not needing to concern himself with common decency. He'd missed shouting at ridiculous science on TV, without the exasperated or vexed looks. He'd missed being able to throw affectionate abuse at Dummy without reproach.

Mostly, he'd missed being his own man, responsible for no one and nothing but himself and his own business. Missed being answerable only to himself.

He'd missed being _Tony Stark._

* * *

He'd lived alone for more than twenty years. And he'd always been his own man.

And then _CaveArc-reactorIronmanObiPepperLokiChittauri. _

_ThorNatashaClintBruceSteveAVENGERS _had happened.

It wasn't that he didn't enjoy the others company.

Bruce was his Science-bro, and Tony appreciated his dry humour and reserved manner.

Natasha was, well- Tony was, to be quite frank, terrified of her, but it was the kind of terrified that one appreciated, and learned to love.

He and Clint got along like a house on fire, although there was also the worry that they might actually set the house on fire.

Thor was… Thor. Thor was everybody's favourite.

And Steve? Tony was man enough to admit, at least to himself, that he was head over heels, ridiculously in love with the man.

He knew that caring for them, hell, loving them, and knowing that they loved him, made him a better person. Knew it, like he knew that he wouldn't survive if he lost them.

But this wasn't about that.

This was about the fact that they'd somehow_ completely hijacked his life._

* * *

Leaning against the island bench in the kitchen as he stared his coffee machine into submission, Tony could hear only the reluctant percolating, his own breathing and the gentle hum of wind whistling about the exterior of the tower.

Blissful silence.

No hollow thudding from several floor below, that told of Super Soldiers or Thunder Gods abusing his gym equipment, which was fine, actually, it was what he'd built it for. But really, did they have to be doing it at three in the morning? People were trying to sleep around here. Okay, it usually wasn't him, but still.

No Natasha making no noise and being deadly efficient. Also – no hair dryers. Tony hated the sound of hair dryers. Especially Natasha's hair dryer. He really had to make her a silent hair dryer. Or a larger bathroom, so she'd stop insisting on using his.

No whistle and thwack of Clint's many on hand projectile weapons. It wasn't so much that he minded Clint's uncontrollable urge to always have a projectile on hand; a man had to keep his reflexes sharp, but Tony was kind of sick of being brained by sofa cushions. And the banging and clanging in the vents! The number of times Tony had been innocently strolling the halls, coming up with various plans of nefarious purpose, only to be startled half out of his considerable wits by sudden metallic clanging from above….he had a damn heart condition!

No Thor singing in the shower at 3am. _Bellowing_ in the shower at 3am. _Bellowing '_Tubthumping' in the shower at 3am. Thor was a Norse Thunder God. No man bellowed like Thor.

No offbeat whistling as Bruce paced the hallways thinking on his latest theory. And okay, the only thing he could think of that annoyed him about Bruce was the man's, admittedly, quite pleasant whistling. Maybe Bruce was acceptable. For science! But no, because the only bigger mother-hen than Bruce, was Steve.

No Steve with his, "Have you eaten, Tony?", "How about a few hours' sleep?", "Do you really need more caffeine?" and his ridiculous need to fold his underwear, _his goddamn underwear_. And make _Tony_ fold_ his goddamn underwear_.

There was no one arguing over the last box of pop tarts. No one complaining about the empty milk carton in the fridge. No one demanding that he see medical, or go to debrief, or answer Fury's summons.

There was just silence.

* * *

Tony didn't even remember inviting them to live with him.

He was sure that there must have been some form of invitation, or something that could be interpreted as one, but whatever it was, he had no recollection of it.

Okay, so he_ had_ actually invited Bruce. He remembered that. For science.

Maybe the others had inferred that to mean they were all welcome as well.

Likely as not, Fury had been involved.

Whatever the case, from the first moment they had moved in, Tony _felt like he hadn't been able to breathe._

He actually hadn't really noticed, hadn't had the opportunity to realise what an impact they'd had on his life, until suddenly they were all away at once.

Tony could actually hear himself think.

Which, _hello genius_, was kind of important.

_Tony do this, Tony don't do that, Tony what were you thinking, you weren't thinking Tony, Tony where is this, Tony where is that, Tony why aren't you here, Tony why aren't you there, Tony come with me, Tony meet us here, Tony turn the music down, Tony fix this, Tony take a break, Tony Hulk needs pants, Tony stop that, Tony we're having lunch, Tony join us, Tony why, Tony, Tony, Tony..._

Somehow, five larger than life, exuberant, brilliant, scary as hell people had steam rolled over his preferred lifestyle.

And more than anything, Tony wanted it back.

Wanted to be able to breathe again.

* * *

Six days.

Six wonderful, fantastic, perfect days, in which Tony hadn't seen hide, nor hair of any of his team mates.

Bruce was in Thailand, on some retreat that he apparently did every year.

Natasha and Clint were on some clandestine mission in Milan that Tony totally didn't know anything about. Except everything.

Thor was in Asgard, introducing Jane to his parents. To _Odin. _

And Steve was at some SHIELD base in Australia of all places, doing some sort of 'Dancing Monkey' routine that Tony delighted in hearing all about most nights. Steve was freaking adorable when he was disgruntled.

So, he'd had six entire days alone. Seven without Steve, nine without Clint and Natasha, and a fortnight without Bruce or Thor.

It had been, in a word, _bliss._

He's gotten so much done, without anyone nagging him to rest, or eat. There'd been no movie night either, so that was an extra 6+ hours of progress he wouldn't have achieved under normal circumstances. Not once had he encountered a naked Thor, and without the assassin twins, his heart rate had stayed remarkably steady.

He felt rested. Relaxed. Calm and reinvigorated with energy.

He was going to miss being Tony.

And soon – the entire team was due back over the course of the next few hours, and to be honest, Tony was kind of dreading it.

Clint would make some stupid wiseass crack about the chaotic state of _his_ workshop. Natasha's crystal clear eyes would cut through him and see that he was hurt by Clint's remark. Bruce would take in the twenty-thre-, okay, twenty-four, coffee mugs strewn about the workshop with worried eyes. Thor, who had no understanding of personal space, would bellow, which wouldn't really help his burgeoning headache. And Steve would take in the dark circles under his eyes, remember Tony's (broken) promise to sleep, and be any mix of upset, let down and concerned.

Tony didn't really want them to come home.

* * *

Clint and Natasha were first to arrive, and they immediately made their way down to the sub-basement levels. On the surface, simply seeking their host and sometimes-friend.

Beneath that, an instinctive need to confirm the safety of their little makeshift family, driving them to see, to check.

Tony looked up as the workshop door slid open, and the agents silently slipped in. He stilled, pushing back from the workbench as three sets of eyes raked over each other, at opposite ends of the room.

Finding nothing seriously amiss, Natasha settled into a graceful lean against the nearest shelf, while Clint hopped equally gracelessly up onto a half cleared work-space.

The archers gaze took in the state of the workshop, eyeing the cluttered, disordered mess of wires, tools and parts, before asking, with all the tact he possessed, "Say Ironass, didn't your parents ever teach you to pick up after yourself?"

Tony adamantly refused to flinch, refused to think about the myriad of nanny's who'd let the Stark heir get away with murder, and the complete disinterest of his parents, answering coolly, "Fuck you too, Barton."

"Ooh, touchy are we? Did ya miss me?" Clint needled, opening his mouth to add something else, before abruptly falling silent under Natasha's suddenly darkly pointed look.

Tony sighed, and turning back to whatever it was he was pretending to work on, he avoided the knowing eyes of Natasha as she slapped Clint upside the head and together they moved to sit on the couch behind him.

"Yes, yes, missed you heaps buttercup. Now shut up, genius at work" Tony jabbed back, because it was expected.

Before Clint could answer, the door slid open again, and Bruce let himself in quietly, offering Tony a small smile.

He looked tired, as he always did, but at the same time, oddly relaxed and calm- it was a good look on him.

"Welcome back, Brucie-B. You and big green enjoy getting back with nature?" Tony asked, offering his fellow scientist a smile of welcome.

Bruce returned the smile, as he answered, "Yes, very much so. I feel pretty good. How have you been?"

"All's been quiet on the home front, one minor scuffle with an out of control mutant, but X-Men turned up to deal with that one." Tony replied, his own anxiety settling a little with Bruce's calm presence.

"Okay, good. Now I'll ask if any Avenger business happened while we were away, and you can tell me how _you've_ been, apart from overly caffeinated. Really, Tony – this much coffee is not good for you." Bruce replied, the easily audible concern setting Tony's teeth on edge.

"I'm fine, Bruce. Still kicking. Still an adult. Still a genius. " Tony replied waspishly, getting his point home with a little more vitriol than he'd usually aim at gentle Bruce.

Bruce, to his credit, simply arched an eyebrow, and crossed his arms.

Tony folded immediately, and with a sigh, he set down his most recent mug of coffee on the bench, pushing it away.

Bruce easily accepted the closest the engineer could offer to an apology, but Tony felt more wretched than at any point in the past week.

"BATTLE BROTHERS, AND MY LADY NATASHA! SALUTATIONS FROM ASGARD!"

Thor's timely arrival broke the awkward silence, although his loud greeting set the hammer in Tony's head, beating against whatever anvil had suddenly appeared.

His head was pounding, Thors loud echoing laughter sending tendrils of pain licking at the back of his eyeballs. Bruce was still eyeing the coffee cups with distaste, Natasha was still watching _him, _and Clint was harping on about something that had happened in Milan, and if this became another 'Budapest', Tony was likely to scream. He just wanted them to shut up or go away, to leave again. He didn't need them, didn't want them constantly up in his space, in his business. God, why couldn't they just leave him be!

The door slid open once again, with a soft swoosh, and Tony spun to face this newest misery- and stopped.

Blue eyes met his from the doorway, and immediately shifted from exited and eager, to warmly concerned, Steve easily picking up on the tension drawing Tony's body tighter than Clint's bowstring.

Four long striding steps, and the super soldier was across the room, gather an unresisting Tony to his chest, ignoring the good-natured catcalls from the peanut gallery.

Tony automatically hugged back, his arms wrapping around Steve's shoulders, and his face dropping to press into the junction of shoulder and throat, hiding from a world that had suddenly become simply _too much._

Steve's hands felt large and comforting as they played gently across his back, crossing over and curling against his ribcage on either side. A gentle huff of breath was the only warning he had before Steve was speaking quietly, "Oh, Tony- you _promised_. You're exhausted-"

Steve's slightly upset, but mostly exasperated words became lost to him as Tony stilled beneath gentle hands, his mind screaming for reassurance, for peace of mind.

The same way it had been for the past week- begging for a simple _breath._

Something inside him just _clicked, _and suddenly Clint's prodding teasing was just that, banter, with no sharp edges. Natasha's knowing stare became manifestation of the care she buried so deeply. Bruce's disappointment and worry became almost comforting, proof of affection. Thor was just Thor. His favourite. And Steve's upset became evidence of nothing more than love. Nothing less than love.

_Tony finally breathed._


End file.
